Richie was sitting alone in the atrium, as he always did, doing homework. He was dressed, as he always was, in rag-bag clothes: a shapeless, purplish shirt, battered, stained slacks that were a couple of inches too short, and an old leather belt. His hair was a mess of waves and uncombed snarls.

He looked like a hopeless wreck of a boy.

And yet, Richie was the complete package. In his senior year of high school, he was undoubtedly the best student in a class of a thousand kids at the regional high school. He was real-world smart as well as academically brilliant. With more than six feet of ripped muscle, he was dead sexy under the scruffiness. Girls should be throwing themselves at him. Plus, he had a dry, cutting wit that often got him bullied by his dimmer classmates, but provoked guffaws of laughter in the staff lounge when his quips were retold.

If he would only believe in himself.

Yet, he was deathly afraid of girls, and was targeted by the school bullies because he wouldn’t stand up for himself.

So much potential wasted, I mused, looking at him.

Then I saw The Pack approaching, the cheerleading squad led by Cheryl Kane – Homecoming Queen, and undoubtedly the nastiest piece of work in the school. She led her Pack towards him, held up her hand, then walked coyly up behind Richie. I opened my window to listen to what she was up to.

She put her hands over his eyes, and said, “Guess who!”

Richie jumped, then gulped, struggled to breathe…then started, “I give…”

His voice cracked, and Cheryl giggled while Richie’s face colored.

She took her hands away, and swung around before him, straddling the bench, deliberately allowing her rah-rah skirt to ride up her thighs, almost to her pussy. She glanced down at her legs, then coyly up at him.

“Today’s your lucky day, Richie.”

“Why…” He had to stop to swallow, then took a deep breath, clearly working to gain control of himself, “Why is that, Che…Cheryl?”

“Wuh…well, Ru…Richie, it’s your lucky day because you’re going to kiss me.” She smiled at him. “I’ve been watching you – and you’re not bad looking – for a nerd.”

She let her eyes travel down to his crotch, then back. “Of course, your clothes stink, and your hair’s a mess, and you smell…but you could be really sexy if you tried. And I’ve decided that I’m the one who’s going to grow you up. I’m going to let you kiss me, Richie, and if you do it good enough, I just might let you into my pants.”

If possible, Richie blushed even more deeply, gulped again, then said, “Well enough.”

Cheryl looked confused. “What?”

“You mean if I kiss you well enough, not good enough.”

Anger flitted across her face, quickly replaced by what I could see was a phony warmth. “Okay, well enough, Brainiac! So – do you want to get into my pants or not Richie?”

Richie paused as if considering the matter. “Ya…you…you…” he stuttered, unable to reply.

Cheryl laughed. It should have been a lovely sound, full of the promise of youth, but instead it sounded cruel and malicious. She stood up and flipped her skirt at the same time. The way Richie’s eyes widened, I guessed she’d just flashed him.

She bent over and said, in a sing-songy voice “Close your eyes and I’ll give you a surprise!”

Completely flustered, Richie decided that closing his eyes was probably his best tactic. Yet once they were closed, Cheryl twirled around, presented her ass to his face, and pushed it into him.

“See? I told you you could get into my pants! You kissed my ass real good – Brainiac!”

Laughing at her own cleverness, she went skipping back to her Pack and they ran off, giggling.

Richie sat there with his eyes closed and his fists clenched. He opened his eyes, looked down, body tense – and now I could see tears dripping onto the bench.

Sighing, I got up from my desk, walked out to the atrium, and sat by his side.

“Not all girls – or women – are like that, Richie. She just happens to be a turd among flowers.”

His head jerked up, and I knew that I had just compounded his shame by watching, even though Cheryl’s exploit would be all over the school before the closing bell, and Richie would be the butt of jokes for weeks. “Ass-kisser” would be the kindest he would be called.

He gathered up his books and, without a word, walked quickly away, head down.

~~~~~

The next day, after classes were over, there was a knock at my library office door, and Richie poked his head in, “May I come in, Abuela?”

Abuela – “grandmother” in Spanish – was my nickname. Many kids came to me with their heartaches or problems. I seemed to have that reputation, even though I was barely in my thirties. “Of course, Richie. How are you, you beautiful boy?”

That last part just slipped out and reflected my private opinion. I hadn’t intended to burden him with my thoughts.

He swallowed hard and walked in. “I just wanted to apologize for being rude yesterday. I know you were just trying to help me. I’m…I’m sorry.” He looked miserably at his ragged, sockless sneakers, which he wore in spite of the winter’s cold.

I smiled at him. “Sit down, Richie. Please,” and gestured to the chair opposite my desk.

He shifted uncomfortably but perched carefully on the edge of the visitor’s chair.

I waited, unsure what I could possibly say to this poor boy who was so lost and yet had so much potential. Coming to a quick decision, I said to him, “Do you have any supper plans tonight, Richie?”

He looked up at me, surprised, then quickly down again, as if even looking at a woman was painful. “No.”

I considered asking when was the last time he had showered, but decided it would be mortally embarrassing, so refrained. “I made too much beef stew last night, and I can’t freeze it all. I was wondering if you would be willing to come over and help me eat what I can’t freeze.”

I could see emotions warring within him, and hoped the right one would win. It did.

“If…if you’re sure…?”

I smiled and nodded. “It would be a blessing, Richie. Thank you.”

I pulled a sticky note towards me and wrote my address on it, then pulled the note off and handed it to him. “This is where I live. Can you get there alright?”

He glanced at the sheet, then quickly nodded.

“Don’t bring anything but your appetite. I’ll see you at seven, okay?”

He nodded, then almost leaped out of the chair and was gone.

~~~~~

Precisely at seven, there was a knock at my door. I moved over and opened it to see Richie shifting from foot to foot.

“Richie! Come in!”

He stood, frozen, then walked through my door as if being dragged.

I smiled. “I’m just putting the finishing touches on supper. Why don’t you go and freshen up.” I gestured to my bathroom. “You can have a shower if you want, and I left some old clothes for you.”

Then, without giving him a chance to reply, I turned and walked into the kitchen. I had picked up the clothes from Salvation Army that afternoon, plus a small shaving kit of essentials, and hoped he’d use them.

Fifteen minutes later, Richie emerged, hair wet, but much neater, wearing the new – well, newer – clothes I had laid out for him. He looked clean and distinctly uncomfortable.

“Come and sit down. Food’s on the table. Now, tell me who your favorite authors are, and why?”

The smell of the food cast the deciding vote for him, and he sat, hands twitching as if eager to grab knife and fork and dig in.

“Let us give thanks,” I said, bowing my head and saying a quick prayer, which he answered with a mumbled, “Amen.”

“Dig in!” I said – and he did while trying to restrain himself from wolfing the food down, something I studiously failed to notice.

Sometime, and much beef stew later he slowed down, and finally decided it was time to stop. He put down his fork, looked somewhat abashed, and said, “That was delicious. Thank you.”

Then he looked up, his eyes bright with intelligence. “But you didn’t have too much to freeze – did you?”

I thought for a moment, then shook my head.

“I’ll find a way to pay you back, Abuela…”

“Maureen. We’re not at school now, so call me Maureen, please.”

He paused for a moment, then nodded. “Maureen. You’re very kind. And I don’t mean just for feeding me. I’ve seen you take students under your wing. You are very kind. You’re famous for it.”

He sat back, “So – why me? Do I look that needy?”

I looked at him, trying hard not to let my thoughts show.

He took that as an answer and sighed. “Yeah, I guess I am. But I won’t always be.”

He stood up and started collecting the dishes. I stood and helped him, then put on an apron and started doing the dishes. He found a dishcloth and started drying them in surprisingly companionable silence. Several times our hands brushed as a wet dish was placed in the drying rack, and each time, Richie blushed and apologized.

When we were done, he turned to go and started to say his goodbyes.

“Wait, Richie. I have something to say. Will you listen?”

He stood, half-turned to go, then swallowed and nodded. “I…I guess I owe you that much,” walked over to the sofa and sat.

“Richie…”

“Please, if you don’t mind, call me Richard? I only ever liked my Mom calling me Richie.”

I smiled, “Richard, then. I’ve seen you in school. You have no reason to be ashamed of anything.”

He shook his head and looked down at the hands in his lap. “My clothes are crap, I smell, my hair’s a mess, and I have no social life because I can’t afford one. For an eighteen-year-old, that’s a lot to be ashamed of.”

I paused. He was clearly much more self-aware than I had expected, so I decided to tackle the easiest thing first. “Why don’t you shower at school? You have gym class three days a week.”

He flushed and continued to stare at his hands. “I tried that. The other boys stole my clothes and hid them. Coach had to lend me some to leave the locker room. Then I had to find some more…”

His voice trailed off.

“Are your parents…” I didn’t know how to ask, so decided I’d just be blunt. “…poor?”

Now he looked miserable. “My Mom died when I was thirteen. My Dad’s a drunk and used to wail on me – until I left. I’m of legal age, so I live on my own now.”

I restrained the urge to ask where or how he lived. I knew he worked odd jobs in construction, nothing formal, and got paid in cash.

I bit my lip. This was not going as I had hoped. I thought I might as well take the plunge. “Richard, girls are not an alien species. They won’t give you cooties. And, whether you believe it or not, they want to have sex as much as you do. They just have different…constraints. Some of them are physical – you don’t have to worry about getting pregnant, for one. And many of them are societal. Guys who sleep around are studs. Girls who do are sluts.

“But they really won’t bite.” I smiled, “Well, sometimes they will – but in fun.”

He sat fidgeting, blushing deeply, and looking anywhere but at me.

“Richard, you have a lot more going for you than you know. You’re tall, you’re good-looking, you have an athlete’s build, you walk with grace, and you’re kind and considerate. Girls would throw themselves at you if you…well, if you cleaned up and were more self-confident.”

He was silent for a long time, then looked up at me, “And how would I do either of those things? Clean up – or get more self-confident?”

I smiled, “Well, Richie…I mean, Richard, you’re always welcome to shower here. And as for the confidence…let me try something.”

I got up and went over to my stereo, found the track I wanted and hit PLAY. Soon Frank Sinatra’s voice was urging us to take it nice ’n easy.

“Come here,” I said, and held up my hands.

Richard slowly got up and walked over. I grabbed his left hand in my right and placed his right hand on my hip. “Now, this is a two-step. Basically, it means you shift your weight back and forth from one foot to the other in a kind of shuffle. Try.”

He’d blushed when I had put his hands in position, then looked at the floor as he shifted from foot to foot. At first, he was pretty awkward, but soon the music reached him, and his movements became more fluid. Before long, he was dancing – and enjoying it.

It was clear he was thinking about something and finally worked up the nerve to ask. “You know, when Cheryl pushed her…ass into my face, I was embarrassed as hell. But I also noticed a couple of things. First, I got a, a…uh…”

“An erection? Not at all surprising. If she weren’t such a little bitch, Cheryl would be a lovely girl.” I smiled at him to ease the embarrassment for him. “And what was the second thing?”

“I, uh…I smelled something kind of sweet and tangy…and exciting.”

I drew back slightly. “Oh ho! She has the hots for you – and can’t admit it! What you were smelling was her natural aroma, what the kids call honey. It means she was excited by you!”

He nodded, then looked down into my eyes and said, “And I can smell it on you, too – Maureen.”

I stopped and swallowed. “Uh, Richie…I mean, Richard…I, uh…”

“May I ask you a question?” he interrupted.

Unsure of myself now, I nodded.

“You’re…what? Thirty-something? Why do you dress like you’re in your sixties? Everything you wear is dull and frumpy, yet you’re a beautiful woman.”

There was nothing I could think of to say, especially as everything he said was true, especially how fragrant I was. I had known this young man turned me on but thought I could keep it hidden. Sex with him was forbidden.

I broke and turned away from his embrace – and found him holding onto my hand. “Maureen…”

I turned, knowing I had to say something, but for the life of me couldn’t imagine what.

He drew me back towards him, slowly, giving me time to resist if I wanted – but I went. Back into his arms. Back where I wanted to be, and when I got there, I sighed in unconscious contentment, my head on his chest.

He was quiet for a long moment, then leaned in, lifted my chin, and kissed me, softly at first, then, after a deep, shivery breath, more passionately.

I found myself opening my mouth to him, and he started to explore with his tongue. My pussy lips were already slick, but now I felt feel the heat spreading, the long-absent tingling pressure of being aroused. Meanwhile, the growing hardness in his pants became obvious, and I felt myself getting dizzy. I needed this man! My nether regions didn’t care about the sixteen-year age difference. They only knew I wanted his cock between my legs – now!

“Oh, Richard…I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t…”

“Shhhh,” he put his finger to my lips, “I shouldn’t either. But we will.” He leaned in to kiss me again, and my insides turned molten. Finally, I broke and pulled him towards my bed in the other room.

Now his inexperience showed. He knew what he wanted, but wasn’t sure how to go about it. I reached up and slowly started to unbutton my blouse, eyes locked on his. When all the buttons were undone, I pulled my blouse out from my long, black skirt, then pushed it off my shoulders, letting it fall. Reaching around behind me, I unclipped my plain white 36C bra and shrugged it off.

Crossing my arms across my naked breasts, I felt suddenly shy. He hurriedly pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it away, then pulled me roughly to him while my arms found their way around his neck.

Pressed against his muscular chest, my nipples felt suddenly hot and hard and my breathing was getting short. He put his hand behind my head – how did he know to do that? – and pulled my mouth to his, kissing me now with hurried need. Sliding my hands up his back, I urgently replied. It had been so long – too long – and here was a man who was not only beautiful, but smart, and funny, and kind.

When we broke, we were both panting. Letting my hands fall to his belt, I quickly undid the buckle, unbuttoned the waist, then unzipped his fly. I paused, deliberately – and he pushed both the jeans and underwear to the floor, then kicked them away. I felt my eyes widen when an uncircumcised cock bigger than anything I had imagined sprang free and pointed up at me. He pulled me to him, his cock throbbing between us, then slid his hands behind me, trying to figure out how to undo my skirt, but fumbled it.

Intercepting his hands, I hurriedly undid the clasp, pulled the zipper, let the skirt puddle around my feet, and stepped out, leaving me quivering and bare but for my granny panties.

I knew he was smart, and that kiss told me he had talent, but he confirmed it now by placing his hands on the elastic of my panties, and, watching my eyes, slowly, slowly slid them down to the floor. He followed them down, falling to his knees, inhaling my now-dripping pussy and trembling with excitement.

I spread my feet wide. He placed his hands on my buttocks, pulling me to him. I saw him swallow, then extend his tongue, and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, run the tip lightly along the edges of my pussy lips, tasting me and making me moan. On...